Unlucky in Love
by MaverickLover2
Summary: He saw her across the park and fell head over heels for her.
1. Chapter 1

Unlucky in Love

Chapter 1

"Honestly, Stuart, why do you want to waste your time like that?"

It wasn't the first time she'd said those words, or something like them, but it was becoming more and more frequent. He remembered a day when she'd supported him, encouraged him even, but those days were long since past. Now it seemed all she did was complain. Stu sat down on her couch and wondered where it had all gone wrong, and he began remembering just what it was like in the beginning.

He'd first seen her across the park when he was out walking after lunch. She was so beautiful she took his breath away. Tall, statuesque and elegant. It was only later that he noticed her piercing blue eyes and the long, dark hair. He didn't know who she was, only that his very life depended upon meeting her. He walked as fast as he dared and began following her, trying to remain far enough away that she wouldn't think him a stalker.

She disappeared into Macy's and he hurried so he wouldn't lose her in the store. The next time he saw her was behind the perfume counter, demonstrating a new scent to a well-dressed dowager. He quickly moved away, to a display of multi-colored scarfs, and he found himself looking for one that would compliment her coloring. _This is crazy_, he thought, _we haven't even been introduced_. Somehow that didn't bother him and he kept searching. When he saw the rose-patterned scarf, he knew he was going to spend his hard-earned money on it. He had to. That was the only way he could meet her.

He paid for the merchandise and waited patiently while the dowager rejected one scent after the other. Finally she seemed to be satisfied with what his girl (_his girl!) _offered, and she made her purchase. He waited until the woman moved away, then gathered his courage and walked up to the perfume counter. "Yes, sir, may I help you?" Her voice was soft and gentle, the kind you heard once and never forgot.

That's when he noticed the blue eyes and knew that he'd chosen the right scarf. He cleared his throat. "Yes, Miss you may. Please have dinner with me tonight. I might die right here if you say no."

"Sir, I don't even know you."

He looked at her name tag: Connie Falconari. "May I introduce myself, Miss Falconari. My name is Stuart Bailey, and this is for you." He handed her the small package. She tried to avoid taking it, but he insisted. When she opened it she gasped with astonishment.

Without saying anything she removed the scarf from its wrapping and immediately draped it around her neck. Finally she queried him, "How did you know? I've been looking at this scarf for weeks, resisting the temptation to buy it. How did you know?"

"I'm glad you like it. It just looked like something you should have. Now, back to my question."

"What question was that, Mr. Bailey?" She didn't seem to be playing coy; she honestly didn't remember.

"Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

She hesitated but a moment . "Yes, Mr. Bailey, I will."

He tried to speak but it took him a moment to find his voice again. "What time are you off?"

"Six o'clock."

He grew bold when it seemed she might be as interested in him as he was in her. After all, he was a good-looking young man, well-dressed, with impeccable manners and an air of elegance about him.

"Shall I pick you up here?"

"That will be perfect. I'll see you then, Mr. Bailey," and she extended her hand to shake his. Stu had to force himself to take her hand; he hoped he wasn't trembling. Her hand was soft and warm, and rather than shake he kissed the back of it. She smiled at him, and he thought his heart might burst out of his chest. He forced himself to smile back, then turned and left the store.

Once he was outside he had to lean up against the side of the building to keep from buckling at the knees. He'd never had anything like that happen before, and he'd never been so bold. He pulled out a cigarette, then his lighter, and flicking it open, watched the end of the smoke glow red for a moment. He took a long draw from the cigarette to see if he could calm himself down. By the time it was almost gone he was no longer shaking.

Why did this girl, this Connie Falconari, exert such a powerful influence over him? He'd dated a lot of women, most of them beautiful, and had never been affected like this. For whatever reason, she was something special, and he had to get to know her.

He'd intended to go back to the office, if one could call the little hole-in-the-wall that he worked in an office, but he saw no sense in that. There was nothing to do there, anyway, but sit behind his desk and wait for the phone to ring. And it had been doing very little of that.

For some time now he'd been trying to make a go of a new job . . . as a private investigator. He wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up there, but somehow it suited him. He'd graduated college and gone on to get his PhD at Columbia, intent on becoming a Professor of Indo-European languages. He was well on his way when the war interrupted his life, as it had so many others. Because of his brilliance with languages and his willingness to take risks other men might not, he was recruited by the OSS. When the war was finally over the last thing he could envision for himself was a professorial job, tied to a desk and a classroom every day.

He soon ran into an old friend from those days before the war and somehow the topic of private investigators came up. Stu couldn't remember exactly how they'd gotten on the subject, but he was intrigued by what he heard. He spent days researching the job, and everything about it struck a chord in him like nothing else had. It was a well-known fact there was more crime than the police could handle, and very often investigators were needed for matters that wouldn't involve the police. Stu had a head for that kind of work, and he began taking the courses New York required. His years in the OSS had served him well, and most of the material he needed to know encompassed knowledge he already possessed. He applied for and was issued a gun permit and spent countless hours sharpening his skills with a weapon. There was one final step before being issued a private investigators license, and that was an exam given by the state. To no ones' surprise, Stuart etched a perfect score on the test.

He would have loved a big, impressive office, but that wasn't in the cards. Money was tight, so Stu found an established PI who wanted a second location and rented the hole-in-the-wall office he worked in now, and made the best of what he had. He considered the money he used to pay for an answering service well spent, and he had business cards printed and placed an ad in the phone book. Then he waited. And waited and waited. Slowly little cases began to trickle in from here and there; skip tracers and child support cases and the occasional divorce case – just enough to pay his rent and utilities. To save money he took to eating two meals a day, and on the days that lunch was the meal he skipped he went walking in the park. Today had been one of those days.

He spent another half-hour walking, only now he had a different problem . . . he'd spent today's dinner money on the scarf he gave Connie, and he'd invited her to dinner. Tonight. He didn't care. If he didn't get any more cases this month he'd just . . . he'd just skip paying the electric bill. This woman was too important to worry about what a dinner date might cost. And then another thought came to him. If he didn't have the money when the bills came due, he'd pawn his watch.

Instead of returning to the office he went back to his apartment. A third-floor walk-up, it wasn't much bigger or grander than his office. At least it was in a good neighborhood, something that couldn't be said about the office of Stuart Bailey, Private Investigator. Everything about tonight had to be perfect. He was already half in love with her.

He took a shower and stayed in it so long that the hot water ran out, which forced him to shave with cold water. Fortunately, this was one of those days when he managed to avoid cutting himself shaving. He had one clean white shirt hanging in the closet; he'd fully intended to go to the laundry to pick up his meager cleaning, but after his encounter with Connie in Macy's he'd completely forgotten everything but her smile. He pulled out the shirt; if he had to he'd wear it into the office tomorrow. Probably no one would see him anyway.

He still had some cologne left, and he used it sparingly. Then he had to determine a place to go for dinner. Someplace not too expensive, but with really good food. And quiet. It had to be quiet, because he wanted to hear every syllable she had to say. Chow Ling's on 42nd Street. Their food was always excellent, and it suited his wallet. That meant he would have enough to buy her flowers – no, a single red rose. Now that everything was settled, he slipped on his black suit jacket and headed for the door. He was surprised that he remembered to lock it.

On his way back to Macy's he passed Maroni's Flower Stand and stopped long enough to pick out a rose. He must have looked at every one before he found the one he bought – exquisite, perfect, as beautiful as Connie.

He checked his watch – five minutes of six. He didn't want to be too early; that would look desperate. He walked through the doors of the retailer's just as the clock chimed six. He went straight to the perfume counter – there was another saleslady there. "Excuse me. Is Miss Falconari here?"

"Oh, no sir, you just missed her. She left a few minutes early tonight. Is there something I can help you with?"

His heart stopped beating. Had she forgotten? Or worse yet, agreed to join him for dinner just to escape his unwanted attention? "Oh, no, thank you."

He turned to go back out the doors when he heard the sound of high heels running followed by that unmissable voice. "Mr. Bailey, Mr. Bailey wait!" In just a moment she was beside him. "I'm so sorry. I left five minutes early so I could clock out right at six and then got delayed by a time clock that didn't want to work. I was afraid I'd missed you."

He tried to speak but couldn't, so he did the only thing he could do – offered her the rose.

"This is for me? Oh, she's beautiful beyond words."

_Yes_, he thought, _isn't she though?_


	2. Chapter 2

Unlucky in Love

Chapter 2

The next week was spent in a dizzying haze of excitement. He'd gotten a new case, a husband whose wife was cheating on him, and most of his time was spent keeping track of the errant spouse. What little there was of his free time was lavished on phone calls, lunchtime walks, and brief but delightful evening meetings with Connie. She was as bright as she was beautiful, and he wanted to spend every spare minute with her. She seemed to feel the same about him.

When his case finished and he presented a detailed accounting of the wife that had gone astray to his client, complete with rather explicit photos, he went straight to Macy's and the girl he was rapidly falling in love with. She took her break and they spent the few minutes she got outside of the retailer, hiding behind the side wall of the building, in each other's arms. He told her the case was finished and she told him how proud she was of him, and their moments together ended in their first kiss. On his way to the bank afterward he was so thrilled that he walked right past it and had to turn around and come back.

They went to dinner that night, back to Chow Ling's, and celebrated . . . Stuart's successful case and their first anniversary. One whole week together. They were giddy with excitement, ordering plum wine with dinner. Afterward Stu walked Connie home. She lived a whole three blocks from him. There was another kiss at her door, and on his way home Stu seriously thought he couldn't be any happier.

An entire week went by before he received the phone call offering him another case, this one tracking down an errant ex-husband who had skipped out on paying his child support. There was only one problem . . . he would have to go to Trenton, New Jersey to try and find the missing man. He accepted the case and went home to pack his lone suitcase. Before making reservations with the train to take him there, he found himself at Macy's perfume counter.

"When's your break?" he asked the dark-haired beauty who had captured his heart.

"In five minutes," came the breathy answer.

"I'll meet you outside."

Five minutes later she was in his arms asking what was wrong. The look on his face told her something wasn't right.

"I got another case," he answered slowly.

"Why that's wonderful," she exclaimed.

"No, you don't understand. It's in Trenton."

"But you have to go."

"I . . . I don't want to leave you."

She smiled at him, trying to be as encouraging as she could. She didn't want him to leave, either, but she knew he had to take the assignment. "Is it an important case?"

"It is to me." He wanted to explain it to her, how his sister had been abandoned by her estranged husband in Los Angeles and had to move back in with their mother and father while she looked for him. He'd sworn that he'd never let another mother go through that if he could prevent it.

"Then you have to go. I'll be here when you solve the case and come back."

He kissed her. "I'll miss you."

She was hoping for more, but for now she was willing to settle for that. "I'll miss you, too. You can call me at night."

"Every night."

"Every night." She kissed him goodbye and watched him walk away from her until he was out of sight. How long would it be before he came back? she wondered.

XXXXXXXX

The train ride was long and dreary. It gave him more than enough time to ponder his situation. Here he was toiling for another established Private Investigator, working on his own in a sort of satellite office, and trying his best to keep his head above water. Now he was on his way out-of-town, leaving behind the only thing that mattered to him.

Trenton wasn't the most beautiful of cities, nor was it the friendliest. Stu found that out when he went to the missing father's last known address. He knocked on the manager's door and was met with a door opened maybe six inches. "Yeah?"

"Mrs. MacDonald?"

"Yeah?"

"My name is Stuart Bailey. I'm looking for one of your former tenants, Ron Brookfield."

"Whatta ya want him for?" The old lady looked at him like he had the plague.

"I have some personal property that belongs to him and I'd like to return it."

She opened the door another two inches and glared at Stu. "Don't live here no more."

"Did he happen to leave you a forwarding address, Mrs. MacDonald?"

"No." The door began to close and Stu stuck his foot in it.

"It's really important that I return this to him, ma'am. If you hear from him, could you have him contact me? I'm Stuart Bailey, and I'm at the Kingsman Motor Lodge."

"Yeah." This time the door did close and Stuart let it. He walked in the direction of the Motor Lodge until he could no longer be seen from the manager's office, then double-backed and took up a position across the street, where he was obscured by the building. He remained until dark, then headed back to his temporary residence.

The next morning he was back across the street from the manager's office, and somewhere around eleven o'clock a man knocked on the same door he'd tried to get information from. The visitor's description matched that of the ex-husband.

The manager's door was opened wide this time, and the suspect disappeared inside. Fifteen minutes later he was back out and headed east. Stuart waited until the man was almost out of sight, then followed him down the main road. The stranger stood at the bus stop for a good half-hour, and when the bus didn't come he started walking east again. Another mile or so down the road and the man presumed to be Brookfield made a turn into a small apartment complex. Stu hurried to the manager's office and was met with a man somewhat friendlier than the woman he'd encountered the day before.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, sir, I'm looking for an old friend of mine. I moved and then he moved and we sort of lost track of each other. I went to the last address I had for him and the manager sent me here. His name's Ron Brookfield. Can you help me, by any chance? My name's Sammy, Sammy Westin."

"Come in, Mr. Westin. The name sounds familiar, but I need to check my rental books to be sure." The apartment was small and tidy. A gray cat followed Stu in the door and wrapped himself around the detective's legs, purring furiously. "Please, have a seat. This could take me a minute." No sooner had Stu taken a chair then the cat was in his lap. "Stormy, leave the man alone. He didn't come to see you."

"That's alright, I like cats." Stu scratched Stormy behind the ears and made a friend for life.

It took a minute but the manager turned from his books back to Stuart. "I thought the name was familiar. He hasn't been here long, but your friend is living in building 4, apartment 410."

Stormy found the floor and Stuart stood up. He extended his hand to the manager. "Thank you, sir. Please don't say anything to Ron, I want to surprise him. Thank you again."

It was easy to find building 4, and apartment 410 was on the second floor. Stu knocked on the door and when the door was answered by the man that fit Ron Brookfield's description, the private investigator looked genuinely surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm looking for Candy Spangler. Does she live here?"

"Not anymore," Brookfield answered. "I've been here a month. She probably lived here before I did."

"Thanks. Sorry to bother you."

Stuart hurried down the stairs and headed back towards the Kingsman Motor Lodge. He passed a small diner along the way and stopped in to have a late lunch. By the time he got back to the place where he was staying, he called his client and told her where her ex-husband was living. Then he called the Sheriff's department and gave them Brookfield's address; they had an outstanding warrant for him, based on delinquent child support.

His obligations fulfilled, he collapsed on the bed. He wanted to call Connie but he couldn't keep his eyes open. _After a nap_, he promised himself. He was exhausted, and a short nap wasn't going to help any. Still, he drifted peacefully to sleep, dreaming of the girl with the dark hair and blue eyes that had captured his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

Unlucky in Love

Chapter 3

He'd promised to call her every evening; she rushed home from work and waited for that call. When the phone didn't ring all evening she tried to think up every reason he might have for missing the call – he was on a case, after all. She didn't know what the case was about or what he was doing . . . maybe he was too busy to call her. She tried busying herself around the apartment, waiting, hoping for the phone to ring, but the later it got the more she worried. Had something happened to him? Was he injured and couldn't get to a phone? Had he simply forgotten? Forgotten her already? Had he found someone new? Someone more exciting than she was? Didn't he care about her anymore? She'd waited and hoped that he would say he loved her, but she hadn't heard those words yet.

When the phone rang the next morning she was somewhere between frantic and grief. And then he was there, talking to her, explaining that he'd been worn out from the job and had laid down to take a nap, only the nap never ended and he slept all night. He sounded so miserable, so sorry that he'd missed their call, that she believed him, and thought herself silly for doubting him.

"When are you coming home?" she asked, hoping that it was soon. She didn't want another night of going crazy with worry and suspicion.

"I'm taking the early train tomorrow. It arrives at the station at 12:15. Do you get off at six o'clock?"

"Yes," she lied to him. "I'll see you after work." She didn't tell him she was taking the day off; she fully intended to surprise him when he exited the train. She did it as much for herself as she did for him; she needed to see him as soon as possible and couldn't stand behind the perfume counter all day, patiently waiting for six o'clock.

He was tired; he'd had to get up at five in the morning to catch the 6:30 train and he hadn't slept well that night; he was too excited to get home to his woman. When the locomotive pulled into Grand Central Station all he could think about was going home to his small apartment and resting before he went to pick up Connie. His attention was elsewhere and he didn't see her, almost walking past her with his head down. Then the breeze caught her perfume and blew the scent right to him. He stopped, startled . . . _That's Connie's perfume_, he thought. _But she can't be here_. _She said she worked until six. _That's when he looked up and into those startling blue eyes . . .

"You're here!"

She threw her arms around him and kissed him, in front of God and everyone getting off the train at Grand Central. It was the first time they'd kissed in public, and for just the briefest of moments he was embarrassed by it. Then the joy and excitement of having her here with him now, of not having to wait all day to see her, took over, and he dropped his suitcase and put his arms around her. There was no more embarrassment.

"I took the day off as a surprise. I couldn't wait until tonight to see you. Tell me you're glad I'm here."

"I am so glad you're here. We have a whole afternoon together. Is there anything you want to do? Did you plan anything special?"

"No, darling. I just wanted to be with you." That was the truth; now that she was back in his arms she didn't care where they went or what they did.

He'd skipped dinner the night before and had no time for breakfast this morning in order to catch the train. "Have you eaten lunch? I'm starving."

She shook her head. "No, I waited for you."

He picked up his suitcase with one hand and grabbed her by the hand with the other. "Come on, I know just the place."

They got to the street and he hailed a taxi. He felt like being extravagant; he wanted to buy her the world. Lunch would have to do for now. "Take us to The Four Seasons," Stuart told the taxi driver, and Connie gasped.

"The Four Seasons? We can't go there, Stuart, it's too expensive. Besides, I'm not dressed for it. Please, please, I'd rather go to the diner on 40th Street, or Chow Ling's. Please."

"You would? Really?"

"Yes, yes, please."

"Chow Ling's, driver."

When they arrived at Chow Ling's and Stuart had paid for the taxi, he set his suitcase on the sidewalk. "I wanted to take you someplace as elegant as you," he whispered into her hair as they stood with their arms around each other.

"But I love this place," she replied, "and I love being with you. We don't have to go somewhere expensive. As long as we're together it doesn't matter where we are."

How could he explain it to her? He was just getting started in the private investigation business, and money was scarce. Still, he'd spend every cent he had on her just to see her smile. Every time she smiled at him he felt something he'd never felt before. Something deep inside, something warm and tender. He wanted to hold her, and protect her, and . . . love her. There it was, at last, that word. The one word he'd never felt; never thought of, never said. He loved her. At last there was no doubt, no hesitation in acknowledging the feeling. He was sure that what he felt for Connie was indeed love.

And yet . . . and yet to say it out loud. Something in him stopped his voice from expressing to her exactly how he felt. To say it was so final. It was a commitment, a lifetime promise that what he felt now he would feel forever. And right now he couldn't be sure of that.

He suffered guilt and shame for not being able to put voice to his feelings. And, when it came right down to it, fear. He was afraid to make the commitment, to say the words that would bind him to her forever. What if she didn't feel the same about him? What if he loved her to no avail? Yet here she was, warm and tender, a real flesh and blood person, the only one he wanted to be with. He sought to lie in her arms, to tell her all the emotions he was feeling, to say the forbidden words. Instead, he settled for, "You're right. It doesn't matter where we are. I'm happy just to be with you."

XXXXXXXX

An hour later they left Chow Ling's arm in arm, their hunger for food sated but their desire for each other raging within both of them. He wanted her so badly, to touch her and kiss her and make passionate love to her, and he knew that couldn't happen. She was a respectable, decent young woman, and respectable, decent young women did not sleep with men until they were married, no matter how much they loved each other.

Hmm . . . marriage. Could he expect the girl to marry him when he couldn't even tell her he loved her? But he did love her, and he would just have to find a way to say it. As for marriage . . . he wasn't ready for that quite yet, and he knew it. He needed to build his business, to make something of himself. He wanted to be Stuart Bailey, Private Investigator. He wanted to be known and respected throughout New York, he wanted to be the man that people who needed his services flocked to. He wanted to be . . .

He wanted to be lying in bed with the woman he loved, with his arms wrapped around her and her head resting on his chest. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly that his whole body ached, that thoughts of her drove all other thoughts from his mind, that his feelings went to places they'd never gone before, and instead he had to settle for walking arm and arm down 42nd Street.


	4. Chapter 4

Unlucky in Love

Chapter 4

Days went by, then weeks. They spent every spare moment together, either at her apartment or his. Chow Ling's remained a favorite, and that's where they went to celebrate every milestone in their relationship, including the successful conclusion of a case. She longed to hear him say "I love you" and he tried his best to show her in every way that he did, but the words still stuck in his throat. Every time he tried to get them out, something prevented it.

Slowly the office business began to grow. For every step he took forward he had to take two steps back. He kept working at it, but it seemed that most of the cases he got had already been rejected by every other private investigator in town. He needed a big case, just one big case, but nothing that even closely resembled that came his way. Everything that rang his phone or knocked on his door was a nickel and dime case, and after having the office open for several months he was still scraping to get by.

While it was hard to make it work during the week, Sundays were glorious. They'd meet at the diner on 40th street; if they got there before 8 o'clock the breakfast special of two slices of toast, four strips of bacon and two eggs was only $1.99, and they split one between them. Coffee was still ten cents a cup, even if they came late; in that case it was two pieces of toast each for forty-five cents. Then it was back to one of their apartments to lie on the bed and read the New York Times. She started with the fashion section and he got the sports page, and when everything was done but the comics, they were read out loud. Joe Palooka, Moon Mullins, Smilin'Jack, Jane Arden, Dick Tracy, Rex Morgan, M.D., Li'l Abner, and Peanuts were their favorites, but there were others, too.

When the Times was ready for the trash can, they went for a walk in the park. Arm in arm or hand in hand they strolled, stopping to watch anything that interested them. Once a month they went to Central Park and then on to the zoo, and those were special Sundays. He made her laugh with all his silly jokes and she made him smile with her quick wit and great beauty. If they had enough money they'd stop at Chow Ling's on the way home for dinner; if they didn't they'd go back to somebody's apartment, and that person would cook. Stu picked it up faster than Connie did and turned into a better-than-average chef.

Connie got a promotion at work and was put in charge of the fragrance department. It meant longer hours, but with that came more money. She was ecstatic for the extra funds but felt bad for Stuart, whose business was still struggling. When they went to Chow Ling's that night to celebrate her promotion she tried to pay for dinner. He seemed insulted, and told her to put her money away. If he couldn't afford to buy them dinner, he thought, he couldn't afford her. Connie quietly withdrew the offer.

Something had changed; there was no sense denying it. She invested in a new wardrobe and had to spend a day or two at each Macy's in the area, sometimes requiring an overnight stay. Stuart wasn't happy when she was out-of-town, but what could he do? It was part of her new job, and he had no right to tell her not to take the promotion. Sometimes when he got a case and solved it satisfactorily she was somewhere else in the city, and there was no celebration at Chow Ling's, no holding her in his arms and kissing her goodnight, only a cold and impersonal phone call. He began to feel like he was losing her to her job.

Connie was enjoying her new position. It was different and exciting, and she enjoyed being the boss. She missed Stuart terribly when she was gone, but she couldn't deny it was as wonderful as always when she was at home. She was as happy as she'd ever been and didn't notice the worry etched on his face.

After almost a year of beating his head against the wall, business began to increase. The man he worked for was pleased with the steady growth and increased his salary noticeably, but he was still making barely enough to stay alive and less than Connie. Their times together were less frequent and he began to be irritable; she seemed always to be distracted.

Stuart was worried sick; no matter the growing distance between them he was still crazy in love with her. He had one final move left, and he determined that he was going to use it after she told him she had to travel to Albany to help set up a new store and would be gone a week. She was distracted, with details and plans filling her mind; he was desperate. The week was agony for him . . . she made his life worth living.

He met her at the Penn Station in a cab, and as soon as they were settled comfortably inside he told the driver "Chow Ling's, please."

She smiled at him the way she hadn't for quite a while and said, "I wouldn't mind if we went to The Four Season's."

"No, tonight is special. I'd rather go to Chow Ling's." She had no idea what he was planning, but the tone of his voice was so insistent that she agreed. It had been a long time since they'd been there.

Chow Ling himself was there tonight, and he greeted them like old friends. Stuart might have had some misgivings before they got there, but those all faded when they were in the familiar surroundings of what used to be their special place.

"Chow Ling, may we have some plum wine, please?" Stuart requested of the owner. There was something different about him tonight, and Chow Ling guessed that this was a particularly special occasion. He brought them a bottle of his best plum wine and two of his finest crystal goblets. After pouring their wine he discreetly removed himself from the table.

"Where did Chow Ling disappear to?" Connie wondered. It wasn't like him to vanish into thin air. "I'm hungry."

"I asked him to leave us alone after he brought the wine," Stu answered her. "I have something to tell you, and a question to ask."

"What are you being so mysterious about?"

"I'm not being mysterious, Connie." Stu took several swallows of his plum wine, then he cleared his throat. "I . . . I . . .I . . ." It was no good. As much as he wanted to say "I love you" he couldn't get the words out. He didn't worry about not being able to say it; he knew what he felt, and he loved her, without doubt. So he switched tactics.

"I want us to be together forever. Will you marry me, Connie Falconari?"

She stared at him for a moment as if he had two heads. She'd waited so long to hear him say "I love you" that she never imagined he would ask for her hand in marriage without saying those words. Now she did exactly what he'd done, picked up her glass and took several large swallows of plum wine. Then with the biggest smile she could manage she slipped her hand in his.

"Yes, Stuart Bailey, I will marry you."


	5. Chapter 5

Unlucky in Love

Chapter 5

For a while, things were the way they used to be. They were excited to be together and spent all their spare time with each other. They went ring shopping and found a beautiful little solitaire engagement ring. It wasn't a big diamond, but Connie didn't seem to mind. She loved it, and the first thing they did was stop by Chow Ling's and show it to the owner.

They discussed a spring wedding, and whether they should move to a bigger apartment than either of them had. They talked about moving in together before they got married to try and save money; that idea was finally discarded because it didn't seem proper. They wanted to get a pet, but couldn't decide on a cat or a dog. "That's alright, sweetheart, when we have a bigger place we'll get one of each," he told her, and they agreed to wait.

He worked harder than ever, spending more and more time at the little office trying to drum up business. It began to pay off, but that was a two-edged sword. More business meant longer hours, and longer hours meant he and Connie saw less of each other. Even when they weren't working.

He tried calling her at lunch because he longed to hear her voice, and missed going on their walks together. More often than not he was told she was already at lunch. It didn't matter what time he called. When he did get to see her she was distant, distracted; her body was with him with but it seemed her heart was elsewhere.

One Thursday evening Connie was working late, so he went to Chow Ling's by himself. As always, Chow Ling greeted him like an old friend. They exchanged a few words in Mandarin while he showed Stu to a table, and as the owner handed him his menu he was asked a strange question. "Your lady have a brother?"

"A brother? No, not that I know of. Why do you ask that?"

"Never mind. None of my business anyway." The old man started to walk away from the table, but Stuart stopped him.

"Please, tell me why you asked if she had a brother." Stu was almost afraid to hear the answer to the question.

"She come in at lunch today with another man. Tall, dark hair, looked like her. They were laughing and talking, acted like they'd known each other their whole lives. You sure she no have a brother?"

Stu was suddenly sick to his stomach. He had to get out of here; he looked at his watch and abruptly stood up. "I'm sorry, Chow Ling, it's later than I thought. I have a meeting and I have to go. I'll come back this weekend." He hurried out of the restaurant and got halfway down the block before his insides decided to make a hasty exit. When he was through he wiped his mouth on his handkerchief and finished the walk home. Chow Ling had to be wrong. He just had to be. And a little voice in the back of his head asked _does he?_

When he got home he changed clothes and called Connie. The phone rang and rang and rang. _She's at work. She has to be._ He waited until an hour after Macy's was closed and tried her number again with the same result. There was no reason for her not to be home. She hadn't said anything to him about going out of town or working late. He was scared to death he knew why she wasn't home, but his mind was still making excuses for her. _She forgot to tell me. She was asked to stay late at the last minute. She was in an accident of some kind. _Everything came back to _why didn't she call me if she had a valid excuse for not being home?_

He got undressed and changed into his pajamas. He laid down on the bed and tried to go to sleep, but it was no use. Then he got up and attempted to read a book, but that effort was just as futile. Finally he got dressed again, then walked the three blocks to Connie's building. There were no lights on in her apartment so he sat on the stoop to wait for her. One o'clock. Two o'clock. Three o'clock. At half-past three he saw her, almost a block away, weaving slightly and bumping into the man next to her constantly. The tall, dark-haired man. Stuart got up quickly and rushed around the back of the building; he had no intention of being seen.

At four o'clock in the morning he walked home.

XXXXXXXX

At eight o'clock he showered and shaved, dressing in his best black suit. He noticed it was getting a little frayed around the edges . . . he was going to have to buy a new one, whether he wanted to spend the money or not. While he was getting ready to go to the office, his mind kept straying to Connie and what he'd seen the night before. He had a business meeting at ten o'clock; when he was finished with that he would go to Macy's to see her. He had convinced himself she would explain last night and everything would be fine.

The meeting with a new client took only a few minutes; another errant spouse needed tracking down. As soon as the abandoned wife left he wanted to pick up the phone and call Connie, but he refrained. It was important he see her in person; hold her hand and look into her eyes. It had been a long time since he'd felt her love.

He walked downtown to the park, where he'd first seen her, and felt the same feelings he'd felt then. He hurried over to Macy's and looked in the glass doors, hoping to she would be in that old familiar place once more. He couldn't believe his good fortune when he spotted her where they'd met on that fateful day, behind the perfume counter. He opened the doors and went inside; this time there was no one at the counter but her.

"Hello, Connie."

She'd seen him coming yet she still seemed startled. "Stuart! What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see my girl. What else?"

"I . . . I . . .it's the middle of the day." She was nervous, as if something was about to happen that she didn't want to have happen.

"We've both been so busy, I wanted to come by and take you to lunch. You do still get lunch, don't you?"

"Of course I do. I just didn't expect you." She checked her watch. "I can go in five minutes. Meet you outside?"

"Sure."

He remembered how nervous he was that first day. He'd come outside to smoke a cigarette and calm his nerves. He was elated that she'd agreed to have dinner with him. He was almost done with this cigarette when a man came through the doors. He walked three or four steps, then turned around to wave to someone inside the store. It was the same man he'd seen her with the night before.

He'd just lit another cigarette when she appeared, now composed and in control. "Can we walk through the park? I don't feel much like eating."

"Of course we can," he answered, and reached for her hand.

"There's something I've wanted to talk you about," she began. "I'm not quite sure how to say this. It's your job, in that dingy little office."

"What about my job?" Dingy little office or not, he loved being a private investigator. Besides, the office wasn't that bad.

"Why do you stay there? You're a bright man, you could get almost any job you wanted. Something with a nice office, and prestige, and something that paid a lot better than what you're getting now."

"Is that what's important to you? Money and prestige? Do I embarrass you with my dingy little office? You're right, I could get any number of jobs. Dull, unchallenging, boring jobs. Jobs where I'm tied to a desk all day; the same desk, every day, from nine to five. Jobs that make me crazy, cranky, miserable. Is that what you want?"

"No, it's not what I want. But I don't understand . . . honestly, Stuart, why do you want to waste your time like that? Where is being a private investigator going to get you? You'll never have anything but that damn little office, and we'll struggle for every penny. What happens when we want to go out and have some fun? What if we want to take a vacation, or buy a house? How are we going to do it on that measly little paycheck you bring home . . . when you bring one home at all?"

He was madder than he'd ever been before . . . and at the same time he was miserable. Why had she turned on him like that? He let go of her hand and stopped to look at her. Really look at her. She'd changed, but not overnight. It had happened slowly - so slowly that he didn't even see it. Maybe that's what last night was about. . . the new Connie Falconari. The woman that didn't care what she did, or who she did it with. The first day he'd seen her she was beautiful, so sweet and fragile, like the rose he'd brought her that night. Where was that girl? Was she using her complaints about his work to justify what he'd seen at three o'clock in the morning? And what had he seen? She hadn't said a word about anything but his work. Was she even going to tell him where she was last night, or who the man was that he'd seen her with? And what about the lunch at Chow Ling's, their special place?

"If I'm so inadequate why don't you find somebody better suited to your needs?" The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about them. _No, no, no, I didn't mean that_ he thought. _Oh God, please let me take it back._ "Connie, I . . . I didn't mean that. You know how I feel about you. I want to marry you, to have a home and a family with you. To be together forever."

"I have to go back to work, Stuart, but this discussion isn't finished. I'll be at your apartment at six-thirty tonight. Please see if you can be there." She turned her back on him and headed back to the department store, to her refuge from him. He stood there, lost and alone, in so much pain that he couldn't even move. He would be sure to be home at six-thirty.


	6. Chapter 6

Unlucky in Love

Chapter 6

She'd told him to be home at six-thirty. After the aborted walk in the park he couldn't go back to work; he tried but he couldn't think of anything but her. There was no sense trying to talk to clients or conduct business when there was only one thing on his mind, and it didn't have anything to do with being a private investigator. He'd loved her from the first moment he saw her – was he about to lose her?

He didn't think he'd ever marry . . . there was just something about being tied to one woman for the rest of your life that he couldn't abide. But when he thought about marriage to Connie it was a risk he was willing to take.

Instead of a return to the office, he went for a walk . . . three times around the park and all the way down 42nd street and back. He was halfway to Penn Station before he realized where he was and headed back to his apartment. When he got there it was only three o'clock, and he started cleaning to keep himself busy. The rooms were small, and he was a tidy kind of person, so it didn't take much to make it shine. Five o'clock . . . he thought he'd go crazy before it was time for Connie to get there. He took a shower and shaved, changing into casual clothes, and sat down to wait.

She didn't knock on his door until almost seven o'clock. By that time he'd practically worn a hole in the floor from pacing and chewed all his fingernails off, a habit that would follow him the rest of his life. She looked surprised when he opened the door for her; she almost hadn't expected him to be there. "Hello Connie. Won't you come in?" He kept his voice soft and even, a way of speaking he'd developed in his work as a P.I. It required his concentration and kept his attention focused on the task at hand.

"Uh . . . thank you." She looked around the apartment. Neat as a pin, as always. He was going to make someone a spectacular husband, if they could put up with never having any disposable income. Connie had come to Stuart's to tell him what she hadn't been able to this afternoon . . . she couldn't marry him. Oh, she loved him – that was never in doubt. But love wasn't enough. At least it wasn't enough for her.

"Won't you have a seat?" he offered, in that same maddening tone of voice she'd heard him use on the phone when he had clients in his office. Maybe this would be easier than she thought.

"Stuart, there's no sense in prolonging this," she began before he interrupted her, as if that would delay the inevitable.

"Would you like something to drink?"

_No_, she thought. _Stop stalling._ "Stuart, I . . . I can't marry you." There. She'd finally said it. She might as well have put a bullet in him, from the expression on his face.

That's just what it felt like to Stu, only a thousand times worse. She'd said yes to his proposal of marriage because she loved him; he was certain of that. For her to reject him now could mean only one thing . . . she didn't love him anymore.

He didn't say a word, just collapsed into a chair. The wind had been knocked out of him. He needed time to think, time to wonder why she was lying to him like this. Oh yes, she was lying; he could feel it. Every word she'd said, every move she made told him she was lying. He'd learned to read people pretty well over the last year, it was something that was almost necessary if he was going to be a successful P.I. And it came in handy in his personal life, too. Like now. He wasn't going to say anything to her, but he couldn't help himself. He had to know.

"Is it . . . is it because of the man you had lunch with yesterday and were out with last night?"

Now it was her turn to be surprised. "How . . . ?"

"How do you think? I'm a private detective, after all." He paused for just a moment while he let that sink in. "Though not a very good one, according to you."

"No," she answered at last, "no, it's not because of him. He's a friend, that's all."

"Tell me, why did you suddenly decide you couldn't marry me? And don't tell me it's because you don't love me."

"It's not because I don't love you. I just can't marry you. Can't you let it go at that?"

He looked at her and smiled, and there was something both triumphant and pitiful in the smile. He'd gotten her to admit she loved him. Half the battle was won. This was war, as far as he was concerned, and he was fighting for his very life. The life he wanted with Connie Falconari.

"No, I can't. If you love me why can't we be together?"

That's when she did something unexpected. She took off her engagement ring and set it down on the end table next to her. "Give it up, Stu. I'm not going to marry you. There is no more to say." She rose from her seat and bent over to kiss him on the cheek. "Goodbye, Mr. Bailey." In less than a heartbeat she was gone.

He sat there for more than a minute, stunned into silence. Then he reached over and picked up her engagement ring, turning it over and over in his hand. At first he was tempted to throw it away, then he thought better of it. Besides a few photographs, it was all he had left of her. He picked up the ring, got the photos from his dresser, and put them all together in a small box. He put a rubber band around the box and put it in the bottom of his desk drawer. He knew the day he could throw the box away, without opening it, he would truly be over her.

XXXXXXXX

Six weeks later he was packing all his personal items to be shipped home to California. For now he was going to stay with his parents while he looked for an office and an apartment. He'd already checked with the bonding and licensing bureau in California and, with a minimum of paperwork, found that his P.I. license could be transferred.

He looked around the apartment. There were several boxes stacked neatly along one wall; those were the ones he was having shipped. His clothes were in his suitcase, which was still standing open on the bed. The UPS man was due tomorrow morning and he was flying out of La Guardia tomorrow afternoon. There was just one more thing to put in the suitcase, and he removed it from the bottom drawer of his desk. It was the first time he'd seen the small box since the day she walked out on him. He placed it underneath his clothes in the suitcase as his mind drifted back . . .

The first hour after she left was the worst hour of his life. He was in so much pain he had no idea he was crying until the tears began to slide down his face and onto his shirt. He was numb with grief and it slowly dawned on him that she was gone; really gone. What happened? What had he said or done that drove her away? He broke every rule with her; he'd fallen in love with her, and she loved him back. For a while. He'd asked her to marry him, something he thought he'd never do, and she'd accepted. And then, suddenly, it was over, and he was sitting in his New York apartment lost and alone.

He was so worn out from stress and grief and so tired from not sleeping the night before that he fell asleep where he sat. When he woke the next morning he was stiff and sore; his body felt almost as bad as his heart did.

He remained in the apartment all day, thinking of nothing but her. By the time dusk fell he'd come to a conclusion . . . he couldn't stay in New York. Even if he moved to a different part of the city there was always the chance he would run into her. It would kill him if he saw her with someone else, and he wasn't sure he was strong enough to live with fear like that every day.

He called his parents and told them what he wanted to do; he didn't tell them why but that didn't matter. He was coming home to California, and they were thrilled. A reason wasn't necessary. They were happy that he'd no longer be three thousand miles away.

Next he talked to the private investigator he'd been working for. He wasn't pleased to see Stu go; the business had been steadily building and Bailey was earning a reputation for being a straight shooter. When that was agreed upon by both parties he went downstairs and told the building manager he was moving out, sometime within the next forty-five days. That's when the packing began.

And now his New York odyssey was coming to an end. He only had to be here one more night, and there was something he wanted to do. He grabbed a jacket and walked down to Chow Ling's, to have dinner with the old man that had become his friend. Chow Ling knew he was leaving, but he'd asked Stuart to come down and share a final meal, and Stu had agreed.

The owner greeted him the same way every time he came in. "Any word, Stuart?" As always, Stu shook his head no. "You sure I didn't cause rift?"

Stu gave him the same answer as he had since that day only six weeks ago. "I'm sure, Chow Ling. You had nothing to do with it."

There was a bottle of plum wine on the table, and Chow had the kitchen prepare all of Stu's favorite dishes. When dinner was finished there was just enough wine left for a toast. "To you, Stuart; I will cherish this friendship we have built forever."

Stu stopped him from drinking. "My turn. To Chow Ling, one of the wisest men I have ever known." Both finished their wine, and Stu pulled out his wallet. Chow Ling put his hand on Stu's.

"No, my friend, not tonight. I will miss you for a very long time, and I offer this meal as a small gift to you in your new venture, whatever it may be. And I hope that you will find real love; someone to cherish you the way you deserve."

"Thank you, Chow Ling. Thank you for everything." Stuart left the restaurant for the last time, and walked home.

XXXXXXXX

Life goes on, and so it did. Several years later Stu was involved in an attempted robbery at Dino's, right across the parking lot from the Bailey and Spencer, Private Investigators offices. The restaurant was closed for a gala charity auction to benefit the children's hospital, and Stu was more than a little disturbed to find one Connie Beck, formerly Connie Falconari, as one of the crew involved in the heist. The night was painful for him, even all these years later. But when what was left of the robbers was taken away in handcuffs, including the girl Stu Bailey was once going to marry, he knew she'd done him a favor that night in his apartment.

He'd fled New York and started over in Southern California, where he was successful and reasonably happy. When everything was over at Dino's and he went home that night, he pulled a small box out of the bottom drawer of his dresser. Without opening it, he threw it in the trash.

_The End_


End file.
